Gloomy as that eternal Porch,

Through which departed spirits go;
Not ev❜n the flare of brand and torch
Its flickering light could further throw
Than the thick flood that boil❜d below.
Silent they floated — as if each
Sat breathless, and too aw'd for speech
In that dark chasm, where even sound
Seem'd dark, -so sullenly around
The goblin echoes of the cave

Mutter'd it o'er the long black wave,

As 'twere some secret of the grave !

Beneath them from its onward track;

Some mighty, unseen barrier spurns

The vexed tide, all foaming, back,

And scarce the oar's redoubled force

Can stem the eddy's whirling force;

When, hark! some desperate foot has sprung

Among the rocks -- the chain is flung-
The oars are up-the grapple clings,

And the toss'd bark in moorings swings.

Just then, a day-beam through the shade ...
Broke tremulous but, ere the maid
Can see from whence the brightness steals,
Upon her brow she shuddering feels
A viewless hand, that promptly ties
A bandage round her burning eyes;
While the rude litter where she lies,
Uplifted by the warrior throng,
O'er the steep rocks is borne along.

Blest power of sunshine! genial Day,
What balm, what life is in thy ray!
To feel thee is such real bliss,
That had the world no joy but this,
To sit in sunshine calm and sweet,
It were a world too exquisite
For man to leave it for the gloom,
The deep, cold shadow of the tomb !
Ev'n HINDA, though she saw not where
Or whither wound the perilous road,
Yet knew by that awakening air,

Which suddenly around her glow'd,

That they had ris'n from darkness then,

And breath'd the sunny world again!

For now the steepy labyrinth led

Through damp and gloom -'mid crash of boughs, And fall of loosen'd crags that rouse

The leopard from his hungry sleep,

Who, starting, thinks each crag a prey,

And long is heard from steep to steep,
Chasing them down their thundering way!
The jackal's cry—the distant moan

Of the hyæna, fierce and lone;
And that eternal, saddening sound

Of torrents in the glen beneath,

As 'twere the ever-dark Profound

That rolls beneath the Bridge of Death!

All, all is fearful ev'n to see,

To gaze on those terrific things

She now but blindly hears, would be

Relief to her imaginings!

Since never yet was shape so dread,

But Fancy, thus in darkness thrown,

And by such sounds of horror fed,

Could frame more dreadful of her own.

But does she dream? has Fear again
Perplex'd the workings of her brain,
Or did a voice, all music, then

Come from the gloom, low whispering near —
"Tremble not, love, thy Gheber's here?"

She does not dream all

sense, all ear,

She drinks the words, "Thy Gheber's here."

'Twas his own voice she could not err

Throughout the breathing world's extent

There was but one such voice for her,

So kind, so soft, so eloquent!
Oh! sooner shall the rose of May
Mistake her own sweet nightingale,

4 A frequent image among the oriental poets. "The nightingales warbled their enchanting notes, and rent the thin veils of the rose-bud and the rose - Jami.

Though blest, 'mid all her ills, to think
She has that one beloved near,

Whose smile, though met on ruin's brink,
Hath power to make ev'n ruin' dear,
Yet soon this gleam of rapture, crost
By fears for him, is chill'd and lost.
How shall the ruthless HAFED brook
That one of Gheber blood should look,

With aught but curses in his eye,

On her a maid of ARABY

-

A Moslem maid - the child of him,

Whose bloody banner's dire success Hath left their altars cold and dim,

And their fair land a wilderness!

And, worse than all, that night of blood
Which comes so fast-oh! who shall stay

The sword, that once hath tasted food
Of Persian hearts, or turn its way?
What arm shall then the victim cover,
Or from her father shield her lover?

"Save him, my God!" she inly cries
"Save him this night and if thine eyes